"Here's a feller murdered," the foreman went on, "in a detective's room, the same detective that's in charge of the Moss murder. We're told his name's Hyatt, we're told he was sent to that room by the detective whilst he's engaged in some fanciful business in the north--is that sense?"
"Then there's the _Journal_," interrupted the man of gloom, "it comes out this mornin' with a cock-an'-bull story about these two murders being connected with the slump--why, there ain't any slump! The market went up the very day this chap Hyatt was discovered."
"Sensation," said the foreman, waving deprecating hands, "newspaper sensation. Any lie to sell the newspapers, that's their motto."
The conversation ended abruptly, as T. B. Smith appeared at the entrance of the court. His face was impassive, his attire, as usual, immaculate, but those who knew him best detected signs of worry.
"For Heaven's sake," he said to a young man who approached him, "don't talk to me now--you beggar, your wretched rag has upset all my plans."
"But, Mr. Smith," pleaded the reporter. "What we said was true, wasn't it?"
"'A lie that is half the truth,'" quoted T. B. solemnly.
"But it is true--there is some connection between the murders and the slump, and, I say, do your people know anything about the mysterious disappearance of that dancing girl from the Philharmonic?"
"Oh, child of sin!" T. B. shook his head reprovingly. "Oh, collector of romance!"
"One last question," said the reporter. "Do you know a man named Escoltier?"
"Not," said T. B. flippantly, "from a crow--why? is he suspected of abducting your dancing lady?"
"No," said the reporter, "he's suspected of pulling our editor's leg."
T. B. was all this time walking away from the court, and the reporter kept step with him.
"And what is the nature of his hoax?" demanded T. B.
He was not anxious for information, but he was very desirous of talking about nothing--it had been a trying day for him.
"Oh, the usual thing; wants to tell us the greatest crime that ever happened--a great London crime that the police have not discovered."
"Dear me!" said T. B. politely, "wants payment in advance?"
"No; that's the curious thing about it," said the reporter. "All he wants is protection."